My Name is Amell
by ChampionTheWonderSnail
Summary: 'They' say no two Amells should exist in the same universe but 3 of them together is going slightly overboard with all the women and children first with no life-jackets or hot rum with hungry sharks circling below. Crossover Alt-Universe TLW-WYWH-RAM with Reyavie. No sequel this however...
1. Chapter 1

**Their Name is Amell**

**By Reyavie & Champion the WonderSnail**

A/N: I suppose you could call this a fanfiction of a fanfiction, because I love Reyavie's _The Laughing Wall_ characters so much that I just had to throw an inter-fanfiction party so our crazy mages could meet. Also because despite ending my own, two Amell stories years ago (Wishing You Weren't Here and Remembering Aunt Mildred), they appeared out of the virtual universe where I thought they had gone for a well-deserved retirement to nag at me: 'We're not done yet!' Well no. This is true. There are some buildings in Thedas still standing; plenty of people yet to traumatise and clearly, not enough random noblefolk have been turned into amphibians.

This story is – tentatively – the result. Where it's going to go…nobody knows. Least of all, I suspect, do the girls. But they are Amells. I'm sure they'll cope.

Their writers however…will probably need more coffee. And chocolate. Lots of it.

World of Dragon Age belongs to Bioware. DA and the Knight Commander belong to the wonderful, patient, incredibly talented and very generous Reyavie.

-oo-

**Chapter 1**

_Argh…another completely exhausting day…_It was late, she was cold; every bone in her body felt chilled to their cores. Someone could hit her with a hammer and she'd shatter. _Alright, that was an exaggeration but…_She paused, one foot slightly above the hall runner. The door to the Warden Commander's office stood ajar; pale yellow light spilling out onto the stone. Could she sneak past? As much as she adored, loved, admired, blah blah blah the Commander she really just wanted to topple into bed with a handful of cheese sandwich, cursing Anders for deciding to leave the Peak and making her the only Healer in the Arling, in addition to her normal Warden duties.

"Mer, that you?"

Had the stone squeaked? How had he _known _it had been her and not, say, some other Warden walking past his office?

Pondering the lamplight on the stone a few moments, she answered. "No…?"

"Oh, very funny."

She grimaced. He'd want a _report_, to be briefed. A 'how was your day, dear' _talk _which was all very nice and caring and communicative but her bed would be warm and there were new curses to be made about Anders and by the way, Jowan too for choosing _arcane warrior magic _because it was manly and the only way to get girls, not like Healing…_eew, Healing's for pansies in poofy pants, I'm not doing that euww…_The door swung open, the light obscured by a wide-shouldered Warden with the I'm-In-Charge double-Griffon on the front. Clearly, he'd been doing some _official _Commandery things or he wouldn't be wearing the 'special' armour.

And he was giving her _that_ look.

"Wow Merran, you look…terrible."

Yup. That was the look alright.

"I mean…" he continued. "You look awful; like you've been dipped into a pool of mud then rolled in a bucket of leaves then stampeded over by a pack of hungry blight wolves." He plucked one of the abovementioned leaves from her hair. It had been raining outside. It had been windy. Gusty. Torrential. She'd been blown off her pony. Heck, the _pony_ had been blown off the path…

Talk? Exchange pleasantries? She was not in the mood. Hunching her shoulders, Merran ignored her Warden Commander husband and continued her silent and tired trudge down the hallway.

"I mean, well it's…it's cute on you," he called after her, stepping forward to walk by her side. "Aw…look at the cute and adorable muddy mage. All that dirt; it clearly suits you."

She gave him _that _look.

"Oh now, don't be like that." He threw an arm around her, realised he was making a mess of perfectly shiny armour and more importantly…raising her grumpiness to dangerous levels and withdrew the offending arm. He sighed, halting in his tracks while she continued on; the small, forlorn and thoroughly miserable, slumping creature that she was disappearing into the gloom of the hallway.

After a while he ran a hand through his hair. It had been like this for months now. He didn't doubt his wife loved him, but there was something going on in that muddied head of hers that she preferred to keep to herself. His sunny, optimistic, bursting-with-energy little mage was sad, short-tempered and not fun to be around. Was she tired? Well, they all were really. The combination of the fracas with the replacement Wardens from Orlais after the whole business with the Archdemon and getting involved with politics and…Anders going a bit funny had made Weisshaupt ignore their requests for more Wardens. There were recruits willing to undergo the Joining in Ferelden, but with Archdemon blood running critically low Thedas-wide, Wardens all over had to be extra careful who they chose to put through the Joining.

And of course, Weisshaupt were _particularly _annoyed that the Ferelden Wardens hadn't been able to collect any Archdemon blood at all and had pointedly not sent any more from their own fourth-Blight vintage stocks.

Not that anyone could predict who was going to survive the Joining…and who wasn't. It just meant that whoever they did choose had to be guaranteed to both remain in the Order and be able to fight darkspawn. Really, really, _really_ well. Because _Maker_, were they fighting darkspawn…! While the bulk of the creatures had fled underground after the defeat of the Archdemon, large bands of darkspawn still roamed the surface, killing, destroying and tainting the landscape and livestock wherever they went. All he had – to keep the entire country darkspawn-free – was slightly less than a dozen Grey Wardens.

Well, less than a dozen now that Anders had decided that the life of a Grey Warden should have less darkspawn-slaying and more kittens in it than had been supplied...

Of course, he reminded himself, his situation now was no different from Duncan's circumstances during the Blight…_On the other hand…_the annoyingly contrary part of him added, Duncan hadn't exactly _made do _with a dozen Grey Wardens had he? It had taken a combined army of thousands to fight the horde in the end…_Maker, I'm depressing myself. _

Casting one last, worried look down the hallway, Warden Commander Alistair Theirin turned on his heel and returned to his office, the letter from the First Enchanter he'd desperately wanted to discuss with Merran burning a hole in his pocket.

-oo-

"So what you're saying…is that this is…and this is just the gist of it so tell me if I've gotten it completely wrong – where are you again? – some kind of…door…device…thingie…thing." Leaning on the bench top, the speaker stretched over to try and locate…she jumped as Dagna's head appeared abruptly in her field of view, orange eyebrows beetling across a freckled forehead.

"Alyyyyyyyyyyce…" she began in a warning tone. "Keep your distance until I'm finished. You're going to break something."

Pouting, Senior Enchanter Alyce Amell nevertheless did as she was bid, returning to the tall stool provided for 'the visiting Beanpole' and folded her arms across her chest. Meanwhile Dagna continued to fuss about the device; a…well it _appeared _to be a mirror. Of sorts. Very magical. Very old too, according to Dagna who at this very moment was in the process of attaching tubes of varying sizes and lengths from sealed cylindrical metal barrels to it.

"And yes," Dagna stood, two tube ends in each hand, facing the mirror thoughtfully. "As much as I could make of the muddled Old Tevinter it's a portal."

"Portal?" Alyce repeated. "Like one of those fellows the nobles hire to carry luggage and so forth?"

Dagna rolled her eyes. "That's a porter. This is a port…al. Though," she added cheerfully, "I suppose it's a nice simile. While I wouldn't let this anywhere _near _a nobleman, woman or nug, it will sort of carry a thing or even a person from one place to another."

"Carry them?" Alyce's own frown deepened. "Carry them where?"

Dagna turned, the tubes still in her hand emitting a strange, blue smoke and her eyes sparkling in fervent, dwarvish eagerness. "That's the exciting part! I don't know!"

"You're insane, you do know that don't you?" Alyce stated in a flat tone of voice.

"Probably!" Dagna nodded her head vigorously. She turned back to the 'portal' as she had called it, diving under some scaffolding with the tubes. Industrious dwarvish grunting followed.

Alyce returned her attention to the mirror. The _Eluvian. _There was something about the shape of the thing that caused her not to trust it; those sticky-up bits there for instance looked like demon horns and even if she didn't automatically view anything that came out of Tevinter with healthy suspicion, the fact that it dated back to the time of Arlathan when magic was pretty much a free-for-all (unless a person went about setting everyone's pants on fire) was in itself something to be wary of. It _looked _funny. And it sounded funny too. When it had first been brought into Dagna's workshop and set down, it had _hummed _as though making some kind of comment about its new surroundings, startling the poor dwarves that had been carrying it into nearly dropping the thing.

Some time passed with no sign of the dwarf. Just as Alyce began to wonder anew whether the scaffolding had eaten her old Tower friend, Dagna reappeared; red-faced but rather smug looking.

"Done!" she announced.

"What is?" Alyce said automatically.

Dagna struck the air with her finger. "Everything!" she grinned; her smile widening at the Circle Mage's look of worried bewilderment. As she pointed to the mirror, Alyce was sure the humming grew in volume, turning from a mildly irritating background noise to one that was increasingly insistent. Her back teeth began to ache.

"The portal uses quite a bit of mana," Dagna explained – while Alyce gave her head a shake – "I wasn't able to determine exactly how much…it's been pretty hit and miss to work out the precise amount of _lyrium_ -"

"Lyrium?" Alyce asked sharply. "You're powering that thing with _lyrium?_"

Dagna rolled her eyes. "Well it wouldn't work with hugs and kisses, Alyce. So lyrium it had to be." She pointed to the surrounding cylinders and again grinned. "_Purified _and uh…enhanced," she added, the particular sparkle in those big blue eyes beginning to worry Alyce. "Just ah…you being a mage and all…well, if any of these barrels leaked or anything – not that I'm throwing doubt on their structural integrity or anything but – just in case they do because you've always taught me to be prepared…"

"Just spit it out already Dagna!"

"You're dead," Dagna stated. "As in. Dead, dead. Really, horribly – quite possibly, probably incredibly painfully too – dead. Every vein in your body? Explodey. Boom!"

Alyce stared at the little Alchemist that could. "You know Dagna…I think saying 'pure lyrium' would probably have been enough. The hand gestures? I would probably skip that bit next time."

"Kablooey!" Dagna chuckled, then cleared her throat. "So uh…don't touch anything as I've mentioned before."

As Dagna had turned back to the _Eluvian, _she missed Alyce recoiling from the bench barrier, backing several steps away then glancing about frantically for any signs of possible leakage. Anywhere. And as Alyce was too engaged in acts of self-preservation, she missed Dagna waving at her, beckoning her forward.

"Oh come _on _Alyce! It'll be fun!"

Alyce blinked at her former Apprentice in wonder. "Is that before or after I die horribly?" she asked.

"Oh, during!" Dagna responded cheerfully. "Now stop being such a big baby and come over here. Just don't touch anything on the way." Turning back, Dagna put one foot onto the scaffolding and began to climb up to the narrow platform that had been set up above the clawed-foot base of the _Eluvian. _As the dwarf neared the mirror, Alyce swore the humming of the mirror intensified. It sounded…_excited…_Dagna bent forward, raising her hand to the silvery surface. It rippled under her touch, bending and undulating.

"Oh my…now that is unusual…" Dagna murmured.

"Dagna…?" Alyce remained rooted to the spot. Every mage instinct in her screamed _danger! Stop her! _"I…I don't think you should…"

The mirror's surface began to take on a deep reddish glow; blackened speckles fizzing across its surface. The humming now sounded hungry.

"Step away from…" Alyce began to warn, only to be cut off by Dagna's excited chirping.

"I can see something! Ancestors! Will you look at…!" The surface of the mirror appeared to lunge out at the little dwarf; silvery tendrils wrapping around Dagna's legs and arms and pulling her forwards, towards the mirror's surface.

"_Dagna!" _

Alyce vaulted over the bench, scrambling up the scaffolding just in time to see the mirror swallow her dwarf. Throwing herself forward, she managed to grab hold of Dagna's ankle…too late…her momentum and the strength of the mirror's pull on the dwarven alchemist far, far too strong to counteract or resist. Shivery, chilled greyness enveloped them both; smothering…Alyce fought for breath, the sound of her heart beating loudly in her ears. They were falling, falling, falling…until grey darkened into black nothingness and all sense of feeling had gone.

-oo-

"Are you done yet?"

Diana had never thought about being a mother. The sheer idea of having someone tugging at the edge of her robe and _screeching_ and _whining_ made her want to start running and end up somewhere Qunari dwelled, dead or magically neutered. That was a _better _prospect.

She wasn't a mom though. She was married. And her husband was a dumbass.

For the countless time, the mage rubbed her forehead with a little too much strength – the alternative involved fireballing and loads of pain – while asking herself why her husband was such a Maker-forsaken child. Sure, he was fine between the sheets but ever since she had said yes in that Chantry, it was like she had signed in blood on some contract which demanded her soul in return.

And magic. And body. Likely a few organs sold for demon soup somewhere. Next time she'd have to pay more attention to the fine print.

"Still sitting, still writing, still busy." Diana tapped the quill against her notes, before sighing deeply at the amount she had already written. A small pile rested in front of her. A bigger and already reaching tower-level stack had been pushed behind her so as to not hinder her line of vision; amazingly filled with the arching structure in front of her.

It was a lot of work but still, it was just so interesting! Diana was used to losing her time studying darker things with the dubious help of Avernus. To be able to work together on something that didn't seem ready to eat the world was so different.

"You said you were almost done an hour ago."

Maker above, what was it with him today? Did she forget his toys again?

"Seriously," she began. "Are you asking to be hurt? You told me you'd come only to watch."

Her eyes left the oval structure for the space behind her. Lo and behold, there was the Knight-Commander, crossed arms over armoured chest and a look on his face that would produce instant cheese when thrown in the direction of a milk-related substance.

Diana's thoughts ran through the list of possible _duties _in her head. Nothing about appointments outside of the academic pursuit of Thedas-wide knowledge occurred. So why the citrus face? Really, getting the man a puppy was beginning to look more and more attractive by the day. Actually, a puppy _would _be a good idea. If the Knight Commander had time to bother her, then clearly the Grand Cleric wasn't giving him enough to do. Poopie-scooping, cleaning urine off the Chantry-issued rugs, training, feeding…that should keep him occupied for at least a morning. Or two.

Not to mention, be able to spend time with someone he had lots in common with. Though she had been told by those wiser than she - and why any marital advice from eighty-year old unmarried Chantry Sisters had any credence, she had no idea - that in time, her husband would become house-trained.

Flaw in that plan? They didn't live in a house. They lived in a ruddy great big tower made out of stone, stuck out in the middle of a frigid lake where it rained icicles ninety-nine percent of the year and showered boulders of frozen stone the other one percent.

Tower training him would require more energy and reserves of enthusiasm than was currently allowed in the Circle.

Lucky the bastard had pretty eyes.

"Do you realise what time this is?"

_Ask a stupid question…?_ This was required of Templars. _I'm sorry, I forgot that bit._ "Time you stopped pestering me so I can finish this?"

She saw him give a shake of his head. Like a…puppy actually. Attempting to dislodge a bit of ear wax or a flea from its head. _Aw, adorable. And I must remember to mix up some repellent, next time I'm back at the…_

"Wait." He interrupted her thoughts, as though she'd been speaking out loud. "Did you hear that?"

"That would have been the sound of my voice, reminding you that I'll be finished when I'm finished."

"Sounds like magic."

What now? 'Sounds' like magic? So Ser Templar suddenly gets super powers when the words 'Knight' and 'Commander' get stuck in front of his name? Magic was soundless. The only sound one was likely to hear were the screams of your victims attempting to put their drawers out of fire. It was such a happy sound.

Kneading at her temple, she returned to her work; habit and lots of practice enabling her to ignore him even while he continued to loiter at the edge of her peripheral vision, hand still raised; a single finger pointing upwards. Her quill was soon gliding across her parchment on more important things.

"There it is again."

She'd been in the process of removing the quill nib from her ink pot to the blotter. His unexpected voice had startled her into blotting an entire paragraph. Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes, counted to ten. "You really have a death wish today, don't you?"

"This is serious." He was frowning at her. She was a mage. She should know these things. Feel the Veil being tested; prodded, stretched and broken. Perhaps it was all that time spent in Kirkwall where even the privy seat could turn into an abomination that made him extra sensitive. Extra wary. On guard. Diana on the other hand wasn't bothered at all. He knew better than to think she didn't _care_, so that was not an option. Ever. He preferred his man parts to remain where they were – that is, attached to him and not say to the nearest tree or sent into the Void in ghostly form.

She also continued to write.

That being the case…"I'll go and investigate myself then, shall I?"

"You do that." A wave of her feathered quill. Dismissed. Off you go little boy. Go play somewhere else, don't put dirty things into your mouth and play nice with the other children.

He hadn't left.

"You really didn't hear that?"

A sound like impending doom and the end of the world as he knew it sounded in her throat…quill bending as her fingers tightened around it. Self-preservation smacked him upside the head. He was sure he could have a look by himself. He didn't need her holding his hand. Anything interesting up there, he was sure to report back in detail. Unless a dragon ate him. Or darkspawn dragged him underground and turned his living body into an all-you-can-eat buffet.

_I am not afraid. The Maker is at my side…_even if my wife is too busy with her career to spend five minutes with her new husband who made her dinner – never mind the burnt crunchy bits, it was the thought that counted – now congealing into a sloppy mess back on the dinner table. He'd even found wine. Nice wine too. There'd be pudding later. That is to say, it looked like pudding. It was pink. Ish. It had currants in it. She liked currants as he recalled. Or was it chocolate?

Knight Commander Cullen sighed. The honeymoon was over, wasn't it? Maybe he should get a puppy? To keep him company while his wife rolled in parchment and ink and the pursuit of knowledge for all.

Climbing the first set of stairs, he sighed again. "I'm warmer…" And there it was again. A strange…sound, tickling the hairs on the back of his neck; turning the inside of his armour cold. The impulse to draw his sword arrived and stayed, his hand reaching back behind him to his scabbard. The sound of metal scraping against metal sounded comfortingly in the air; the weight of his sword giving him confidence in a place that leached him of it.

_Something is definitely not right here…_

Cold touched his chin. He turned his head. Over there. A breeze? In a temple? It was a ruin, there would be broken parts where the weather would intrude. Still. That was the direction his Templar senses prodded him.

He continued to climb.

-oo-


	2. Chapter 2

-oo-

**Chapter 2**

The tarpaulin made a crackling noise as it fell from the object with a single tug. The Warden Commander frowned. It was huge as things went, clearly old with a curious design 'style', if one could call it that. It was not however, something he'd be eager to install in the Peak's bathing room. It wouldn't fit for a start.

"I may be stating the obvious," Alistair's second in command, Kristof observed with a thoughtful scratch of his beard. "This object appears to be a mirror."

"And a rather gaudy one at that," Alistair shook his head.

"Creepy…" a small voice piped up from behind.

The Warden Commander turned. He levelled a scolding finger at the small person perched on the crate. "You," he stated. "Are supposed to be at your lessons." He narrowed his eyes. "Why aren't you at your lessons?"

The child; half-dwarven, brown-haired and still smeared with breakfast sauce shrugged unapologetically. "Jemmy has smelly feet," he informed the Warden Commander as though that was all the excuse one needed in the world to escape learning one's letters and numbers and avoid an uncertain fate of illiteracy and ignorance.

"That would be _Brother_ Jemmy to you, young feller me lad," Alistair told him sternly. Perching his fists on his hips, he added. "Do you want me to tell your mother?"

The boy rolled his eyes, completely unperturbed by this threat. "I'll just tell her it was your fault." Another careless shrug. "Everything's your fault, she says."

"She does…?" Alistair reminded himself in time that his second in command was still in attendance and cleared his throat self-consciously. Arguing with an eight year old in front of a fellow Grey Warden did not add to his Commanderly image, even if Kristof was not unfamiliar with this particular scamp. Still…Merran had said that? To their children? Did she really hold him in such poor esteem that she would badmouth…_what the Fade am I thinking! The lying little sod has made that up!_ Fingers twitching at his side, Alistair glared at the boy.

Having realised the jig was up, Brogan grinned an unapologetic gappy-toothed grin at his adopted father. "Yeah," he added. "She also says you're a dumb nug." Banging his heels on the side of the crate, his grin widened. "With a smelly bottom!"

Alistair sighed, narrowing his eyes. "You do realise it's dangerous down here, don't you?" he reminded the boy. "_Grey Warden_ dangerous." He waved a hand about the room, indicating its contents. Being the largest cellar at the Peak, it held plenty of packing crates, trunks of all shapes and sizes and storage chests of similar dimensions among other 'things'. Things such as the artifacts they'd found in the Keep's cellars; things that could have been used as torture devices; devices that had _been_ used as instruments of torture by Sophia Dryden in her heyday as Arlessa of Soldier's Peak and Warden Commander before her rebellious Grey Wardens had been sent packing to the Void by King Arland's more numerous forces. Things that made poor Levi Dryden so nervous in such close proximity, thoughts of discounted goods fled his magic-fearing mind. And _then _there were the actual magical items required by Avernus for his Warden-friendly experiments. In actual fact, the garishly adorned, malevolent looking giant mirror sent by First Enchanter Irving for Merran and Jowan to analyse looked quite at home down here.

"Tainted…" Alistair continued ruthlessly, "Quite possibly possessed."

"Don't be stupid," Brogan sneered, though underneath the confident façade was more than a hint of a fearful child. Threatening Brogan in this way was unfair, underhanded and dirty Alistair knew, but the fact of the matter was if he'd tried to make a grab for Brogan, he would have found himself in possession of empty air and a trail of broken _objet d'mort,_ leading Merran to banish _him_ from the cheese cellar for life. Encouraging Brogan to leave the room voluntarily (and never return) would be worth the Mean Parent points.

It was working too. Brogan had jumped off the crate, darting worried looks at his surroundings when the door to the cellar creaked open and the familiar tingle at Alistair's spine caused him to turn.

"Brogan," Merran stood on the top stair, arms folded. "It's lesson time. Please return to the study."

This was all the excuse the dwarven lad needed; heading towards the stairs and climbing them rapidly "Yes ma'am!" When he reached the top, boy and mage tagged each other with a bumping of fists; a gesture that completely befuddled Alistair. He did notice however that she waited a few more moments more by the door, ensuring their son had actually left and had not gone to hide around the corner, in case something exciting happened.

Nudging the door closed with her heel, she descended, arms still folded and her eyebrows drawing downward with each step. It seemed to Alistair that the tension in the room rose with every tread made. Was she angry at him? Again? _Maker, what have I done this time?_

Her grumpiness to his relief, landed on the new addition to the room. "I don't remember this being here," she said with a disapproving frown. "Are we turning this room into some kind of fashionable salon?" she asked. "The kind that Leli keeps telling me Ferelden desperately needs?"

Heroically, it was Kristof that broke the tension, waving a hand at the mirror. "Not with something this ugly," he said. "Even the least fastidious Orlesian would risk seven years of bad luck rather than have such a hideous addition to their surroundings." Too late, Alistair realised that in keeping his focus on his wife, he'd failed to notice Kristof inching towards his own escape. "A magical object," Kristof added. "Sent from the Ferelden Circle of Magi."

"The Circle?" Merran repeated sharply. She moved closer, unwittingly clearing access to the stairwell. Access, Kristof rapidly too advantage of.

"Why?" Merran demanded, narrowing her eyes distrustfully at mirror. It dwarfed her, her reflection in the bleary surface indistinct and ominously gloomy.

Merran bent closer then sprang back in surprise_. Had it just…moved? _It must have been her imagination_._

She looked quickly towards Alistair, but he hadn't seemed to have seen what she had. In his hand was a roll of parchment.

"The First Enchanter is quite keen for you and Jowan to have a look at it," he said, throwing one last, pleading look towards his Second. He wished rather than hoped he wasn't in trouble for something he had done, was doing or was about to do. Unfortunately for Alistair however, Kristof cheerfully ignored the plea.

With one hand on the banister, the Warden Second in Command bowed his head. "Well," he began as brightly as the normally grim and gritty older Warden could be. "I will take up no more of your time, Warden Commander." Continuing to ignore Alistair's frantic hand gestures, he bowed at Merran too. "If you'll excuse me, I will return to my duties…"

"If Merran has no objection…" Alistair started, in a last ditch attempt to keep Kristof between himself and his angry wife when Merran herself cut him off, snatching the parchment from the Warden Commander's hand.

"Why are you asking me?" she demanded sharply – both men flinching at her voice - "I'm just the mage here!"

After a statement such as that, Kristof could not leave the room fast enough; or as fast as he was able to, given that he did not wish to draw undue attention to himself. Merran was – at the present time – the Wardens' only healer. It was best to keep on her good side.

His human shield gone, Alistair fidgeted; steepling his hands nervously in front of his nose, then clasping them behind his back, anxious in her presence and wishing he didn't need to be. He had plenty of work waiting up stairs for him so it wasn't as if he was without an excuse of his own to leave. Paperwork tended to breed in his office…and he truly missed Robert Varel's excellent and efficient document-herding abilities…_but_ not only would it mean passing too close to Merran in his departure, she would be left on her own in front of that…thing. And he didn't trust it.

"The First Enchanter says it's a 'gift'," Merran snorted sceptically, dragging Alistair's thoughts back to the present. "Huh. But Jowan won't be back until the end of the week…" With an accusatory glare, she added; "_You_ sent him away with Mhairi, remember?"

_Ah yes…_The enthusiastic Warden Mhairi…Well, for one the young Warden needed to get out to kill things. Secondly, Jowan had been getting underfoot lately too…What was it about the Wardens at the Peak lately? It seemed everyone was getting restless. It had never been like this in Amaranthine. Was it simply because it was a busier place? The fact that there had been so many non-Warden duties to attend to that there had never been any _time_ to be restless? True, Soldier's Peak was a newly-settled Arling unlike the larger, established Amaranthine. The population was still relatively small owing to it being fairly remote and – until fairly recently - un…_Arl-ed._ Or whatever the nobles called it.

"He's the enthusiast for magical runes and ancient writing…" Merran continued, frowning. "Not me…" she sniffed, her foot tapping. "And this looks…well, it looks _Elvish _too. That's sort of up Jowan's alley too. Or road, pathway…canyon. Whatever."

"Oh. Well then perhaps we should consult Velanna?" Alistair suggested hastily, clutching at another potential distraction to draw attention away from himself, though as he did so, he realised Merran might have already read the part in the First Enchanter's letter where he stated his preference for _Circle _mages to investigate. Warden Velanna was _not _Circle. She wasn't even round. In fact any attempt to imply that she was would probably have caused a small, angry pet oakling to attempt to eat one's head. And _that _was even more terrifying a prospect than Merran purposely flavouring one's cold tincture with Bitterwort.

Luckily for Alistair, all Merran did was shake her head. "The pictograms _look_ elvish, but…" She raised a hand, knuckling her temples before sliding an accusatory glare at him. "Irving's got _visitors _from Cumberland hasn't he," she stated. "Poking about his little 'collection', no doubt."

She glanced back down at the First Enchanter's letter. "Calls it the _Eluvian…_If nothing else it sounds elvish, though I could swear this rune right here might be…Damn it!" She stamped her foot in frustration. "I hate not being able to remember what I learned in the Circle! So tell me; what else did he skive off to us for 'safe keeping'?"

"Uh…" Alistair swallowed anxiously. "A…uh, a talking statue, a mabari-shaped hat stand that causes umbrellas to explode and…oh, some kind of fossilised fish made up mostly of teeth and a couple of flippers. Fascinating thing."

She threw up her hands. "Well I don't know what he wants me to do with it!"

Balling up First Enchanter Irving's letter, Merran hurled it at the mirror. Instead of bouncing off the silvery surface however, it _ate _it.

And _then _it made a grab for Merran.

The surface of the mirror ballooned outwards with a hungry hiss, enveloped Merran and sucked backwards so quickly, the Warden Commander had barely a chance to breathe, much less react. For a split second, he stared speechless at the now-flat surface of the mirror…then at the empty space where Merran had just been standing. The next half of that second, he took a dive head first into the mirror, expecting it to shatter on contact.

It didn't.

-oo-

"_Dagna_…!"

As before, the darkness swallowed her cry, returning nothing but an empty, deep silence. Alyce shook her head, disconcerted by the absence of sensation. One moment she'd had a vice grip on the dwarf's ankle, the next…nothing. No sight, smell, touch...All gone. She raised her hands in front and felt no pull of muscle or even the sensation of air against the fine hairs on the backs of her hands and the loss of being able to feel _anything _was as unnerving as losing her dwarf. She could be trapped here for…well Maker knew how long!

_Am I even breathing, _she wondered? _What if I'm dead and this is some kind of Fade wandering…?_

Well, that was a depressing thought.

Not as depressing as the thought of her husband being left a widower at such an, well, if not exactly young, he could hardly be considered about to pop off his perch at any moment.. _Still_, she told herself pragmatically, walking forward and hoping there were no traps or beasties lying in wait. She would expect him to marry again. _Have to really…_A single man…and a busy guard Captain to boot…with a young child in tow? Except…She frowned. _Never had much taste in women, that man. Probably take up with the first Ferelden bit of tart that batted her eye lashes at him…_She stopped in her tracks. Clenching her fists she yelled. "And here's me…! Trapped while you take up with some rambunctious, top-heavy, scarlet woman!" _Curse you!_ "You are _not _to marry some mindless floozy, you long-haired…stupidly handsome…_bastard!_"

Something large and metallic collided into her. Surprised by the sudden return of feeling, she only realised she was no longer alone when another voice spoke in the darkness.

"Oh, Maker!" it exclaimed, the relief in his voice quite clear. "There _is_ someone here! You have no idea how…" It was male and sounded oddly _familiar_. "You aren't some kind of…of demon I hope? What's this squishy-"

"I think you need to move your hand, whoever you are," Alyce interrupted him firmly.

"Oh. Uh…my apologies."

Dead silence.

"So…are you…might you be…human?" the voice asked warily.

_Human? _"If you must know," Alyce replied, relieved that she wasn't alone, but bitterly disappointed that this person – or whatever it was – was _not _her dwarf. "I am a large purple turnip."

"Oh, ha ha," replied the voice, unamused. "In that case, _I'm _a little teapot."

"Short and stout?" Alyce suggested, unable to help herself.

More dead silence.

It did not bode well.

With another shake of her head, Alyce stood, dusting herself off out of habit. "You wouldn't happen to know where we are?" she asked in the hope that if she could keep him, it, whatever conversing with her, she could at least keep track of him, it, whatever it was.

"No, do you?" the voice replied – _why does it sound like I've heard it before? _– accompanied by a metallic noise that put Alyce in mind of _armour_…She squinted, 'looking' in the direction of the voice, then raised a hand, the words of a fire spell (that she expected not to work…_again_ in this place) rising into her mind when…"Maker's breath!" the voice exclaimed. "You're a mage!" he exclaimed.

Alyce's eyes narrowed. She knew of only two types of people that could _tell _she was a mage: another mage and a…"Andraste's spit roast! You're a Templar!"

"Well no need to get so annoyed about it," the voice retorted immediately, offended by her statement and confirming her guess. "You make it sound like we go around stealing sweets from children and knocking over old ladies crossing roads…"

In the darkness, Alyce cocked her head speculatively. So she'd narrowed the voice down to a _Templar…_and there were two people she knew who would be defensive enough over a simple accusation such as 'You're a Templar'.

"Ser Bran!" she uttered triumphantly.

"Uh, no thank you," the voice replied, sounding puzzled now. "I think I get enough roughage in my diet already."

She snapped her fingers, her choices narrowed from two to _one. _"Alistair!"

Dead silence.

Then…"How…how did you know my name?"

Alyce didn't answer at first, shuffling sideways; the rustle of her garments giving her away when she least wanted it to. "Oh uh…all Grey Wardens are called-"

"How do you know I'm a Grey Warden?" the voice demanded sharply.

_This is getting tiring…_"Does this mean that your name _is_ actually Alistair and that you _are, _in fact a Grey Warden?" she asked. "Are you, in fact Alistair Theirin? Hero of the Blight, formerly His Majesty King of Ferel-"

"What? _King? _I should bloody well hope not!"

"Ah-ha!" Alyce couldn't help crowing. "You _are_ Alistair!"

The voice sputtered in an incoherent, _Alistairy _way that further convinced her that her guess was correct. "Not _king,_" he insisted in a stern, un-Alistair way that was slightly baffling. "Commander of the Grey, _if _you insist on knowin…was that a laugh? Are you laughing at me?"

"No, no, no!" Alyce hastily waved her hands in denial. "That was a…I had a…a furball…cough…cough…"

"Really?" he intoned in a flat, unimpressed voice. "In that case, I really _am _a teapot."

"And I'm um, Alyce," she stated quickly, firing off in quick succession: "Human. Mage. Senior Ench…uh…" Perhaps it wasn't wise to reveal too much about herself. Not until she knew the exact situation here.

"Uh huh…" Alistair-voice snorted, casting further aspersions on her claims of untimely furballs. "An Ench. They're a kind of talking tree, aren't they?"

"What? Why? I don't know! There's no such thing as talking trees!" Alyce retorted.

"Oh…that's what _you_ know. Have you even met a talking tree?" he demanded. "I _have_. Prone to bouts of poetry…and hiding their nuts in unusual places," he informed her coolly. "And _then _there's the kind that'll rip your ears off if you so much as look at their elf funny…Believe me you don't want to tangle with one of _those._"

"You're just incredibly insane aren't you?" Alyce sniffed, taking another step side-ways. "You and your…_mage _Warden…" It had occurred to her, perhaps unfairly that Neria Surana, her old Tower friend and absentee Warden Commander of Ferelden might have something to do with this mess. _And if she does, _Alyce thought darkly, _I'm going to be very, very cross._

"Putting aside the rather uncalled-for maligning of my character," he now interrupted her thoughts, "How did you know about Merran? Wait…" his voice turned concerned. "Have you seen her? What am I saying? I can barely see the nose on my face in this place…! Maker's right nut, I hope she's alright."

"So you're saying what now?" Alyce scowled. So this person was an Alistair and a Grey Warden but was asking about someone called…what? "Are you sure you're not a demon?" she asked again.

"No!" the voice denied, irritation as well as worry in his voice. "Are _you_?"

"Don't be stupid!"

"Oh, I get it. Now we're back to name calling? Well that's just typical isn't it?" he retorted.

"If the shoe fits!" Alyce returned, fists clenching.

"I wear boots, _if_ you don't mind!" he informed her.

"Well, so do I!"

"Hmph!"

"Hah!"

Dead Silence.

Again.

It did not bode well.

-oo-

"Should we try to open that after all?"

Seated on the remains of a stone wall, Senior Alchemist Dagna directed her question to the dark haired woman next to her, their hopeful expressions reflected in the mottled, tarnished silver surface of the elderly mirror.

This portal exit was quite different, Dagna had found, from the one in her Orzammar workshop, housed in what appeared to be a wardrobe; a rather ugly one at that, though the clawed feet base was similar to the one she and Alyce had fallen through. This particular specimen appeared far, far older too and so fragile in appearance that it seemed to her as though breathing too close might cause it to collapse. It was for this reason that the two women kept their distance, waiting for the others to find their own way through. Now and again, the wardrobe would give the tiniest of shakes, their reflections warping and twisting alarmingly.

"To be honest…" The woman beside her was human as far as Dagna could tell. Not that much taller than herself but with the slender build of an elf and with such laughing brown-olive eyes that Dagna had taken to her immediately. "I haven't been this entertained in years." She grimaced as she added; "and that's counting the time I was dead."

"Oh," Dagna's own eyes widened. Though her gaze staunchly refused to leave the wardrobe, she needed to take her mind off the possibility that her best friend and mentor could be trapped in an unknown Nowhere In Particular for…_ever. _"You're a Legion warrior?" she asked.

"Oh you mean Legion of the Dead?" the woman shook her head. "Oh my golly gosh no. I was _actually_ dead. When I slew the Archdemon I died…I think I might have exploded; disintegrated into teeny, tiny, miniscule little pieces virtually undetectable by the human – or dwarven – eye. Except I'm not too sure…having been – well – _disintegrated _into teeny, tiny miniscule little pieces virtually undetectable by the human, dwarven or I suspect – elven – eye."

"Goodness gracious!"

"Hm, yes…releasing the soul of the Old God from miserable enslavement by the darkspawn in the process of doing so," the woman continued. The two of them paused in dual tension as the wardrobe gave another worrying rattle. Clearing her throat nervously, she continued. "He – or she…I could never tell and it seemed rather impolite to ask so I never did – was so grateful, he – she – it…granted me another life."

"I say, how lovely!"

The woman nodded, dark eyebrows drawing downward. Although her skin was quite dusky, she looked pale and tired under her tan, the darker dusting of freckles across her nose quite interesting against her skin tone. She was a mage too…Merran, she had called herself. Merran…_Amell. _Which was a rather interesting thing considering she bore absolutely no resemblance at all to any other Amell Dagna was familiar with.

Except for the magicky bit.

"Must have been inconvenient," Dagna nudge Merran with her elbow. "Being dead."

"Well, not unless it's for tax purposes."

"Oh no, oh no," Dagna agreed as the wardrobe gave the most violent shake to date. "Plenty of those I imagine…If we were in my workshop," Dagna's fingers gripped the stone anxiously. "I might be able to find some way to release them." She winced. Had there been a cry of help just now? The ominous sound of breaking bone? "Find some way to let them out…"

A wince and a nod followed this suggestion. "Yes…"

Dagna turned to her companion. "You sound disappointed."

Merran cringed apologetically. "Well, I suppose you could say I am. You said your friend is a powerful mage?" Dagna nodded an affirmative. "Well my companion is quite adept at anti-magic. Not to mention rather clever in his own way in general. You'd think one of them would have figured out how to come out of the closet by now. As we had…"

Dagna nodded in agreement. The thought had crossed her mind. Several times. "I'm not too sure exactly," she began slowly, because _her_ best friend was also incredibly clever in a rather _stupid_ way. "I have a sort of hypothesis…"

"That…thing absorbs magic?"

Dagna frowned. "Not…exactly…" she continued in the same, deliberate tone. "And it's not exactly a hypothesis either," she added, just in case. "But more of an inkling really."

"A feeling?"

"An itch you can't scratch."

"Oh, I hate those."

Dagna couldn't agree more. "In any case, I hope either one of them realises that the portal's contracting…and I hope they realise it soon."

Beside her, Merran Amell chewed her bottom lip even more nervously than before. "Oh my," she said softly. "I hope your friend's not a big person."

"Ah…" Dagna grimaced rather uncomfortably. "Well. She is. Actually."

"Oh my," the woman said again. "So is Alistair…"

Dagna had turned sharply at Merran's last word, when the doors of the wardrobe gave a frighteningly loud, protesting creak. The latched doors strained outwards; the rusted locks giving way with little other warning, pinging across their heads. There was the sound of shattering glass…the doors sprang open and thankfully – or perhaps not, for the two rather lanky individuals of opposite gender - revealed in an awkward and embarrassingly tangled jigsaw puzzle of humanity inside.

The wood creaked again as the wardrobe visibly shrunk several more inches.

Dagna sprang to her feet. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed. "I think I'm going to need a crowbar…" Tilting her head, she was finding it difficult tracking where one person ended and the other began. "…failing that, a marriage celebrant."

"You know…" Merran sighed. "Under other circumstances, this might actually be funny if that wasn't my husband." Scratching lightly at her chin, she added; "Actually, perhaps because it _is _my husband that I'm finding this less unhumorous than usual…"

Dagna lurched forward reflexively, arms thrown out as a single booted foot emerged from the cable knit of arms and legs. She was quite sure that was Alyce's foot. _That was Alyce's foot, right? _

"Oh gosh!" Merran stamped her own, tiny foot next to her. "Times like these I truly wish I had my old magic back!" Raising her right hand, she cocked her fingers. "All I had to do was wiggle my fingers like this and zap…!"

The slightly more armoured piece of the jigsaw _fizzled_ and abruptly disappeared. With a cry of alarm Merran ran forward. At the same time, the wardrobe contracted again, ejecting Alyce in a tumbling, cursing ball towards Dagna's feet. As Alyce resisted being assisted further detanglement, Dagna shrugged to leave her be, turning in time to see Merran retrieve an object from the inside of the shrinking wardrobe.

Eyes wide as saucers, Merran murmured: "Frog time…"

In the palm of her hands a large, striped brown frog croaked angrily, waving a padded foot under Merran's nose. She stared in disbelief at first then grinned suddenly. "Oh! You have a sticky up bit here, just like you do in real life!" she told it. "It's so cute!"

"And _that_ was an impressive use of transformative magic…"

The frog propped itself up, wrapping its feet around Merran's thumb as the tallest woman Merran had ever seen gathered herself up off the floor, dusted herself off and approached. Tearing her attention from the frog glaring at her speculatively, the woman extended her hand. "Alyce," she introduced herself with a small smile. "Alyce Amell. And you are…?"

"Amell!" Merran clapped a hand to her mouth. "I wonder if you're…? I'm Merran." The smaller of the women was careful to wipe her hand on her trousers before accepting the offered greeting. "Merran Amell."

The one who'd introduced herself as Alyce was taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Well, that's interesting," she said. "I thought I knew every single Amell I was related to." Narrowing her eyes, she asked. "Are you from…Kirkwall?"

Merran shook her head. "Ferelden born and bred."

"_Interesting_…"

"Terrifying…" Dagna added quietly to the side.

"Grrriddit…" said the frog.

There was clanking noise outside. It came to a dead stop in the doorway. "What the…?" a surprised male voice exclaimed, causing the four in the room to turn towards the only physical exit in the room. "Who are you people?" he demanded, narrow eyes assessing them rapidly. "Are you demons? I'll have you know that I am-"

"Zap."

_Fizzle._

The brown frog in Merran's hand took an impressive leap to the ground, hopping in amphibian concern towards the green-striped frog croaking in surprise in the doorway.

"Oh. Oh _my_…" the brown haired mage stared at her empty hands in shock. "It's…it's back…oh my!" Her rambling was interrupted by the sound of froggy grunting, and Dagna's snickering. On the floor, the two frogs were engaged in what looked like _wrestling, _confirmed when the brown frog managed to twist an arm free and landed a rather squelchy punch on the green frog's snout. In retaliation the green frog reached out, produced a broken twig which it brandished at the brown frog…who then bounded away, located another twig and – now armed - lunged towards the green.

It didn't get far. Neither did. Merran scooped up the brown while Dagna retrieved the green, both frogs protesting in loud croaking that set the dwarf off into another peal of laughter. Struggling in their respective prisons, both frogs continued to hurl the amphibian equivalent of insults at each other.

As they did, there was a final, creaking, snapping noise. Mages, dwarf and frogs turned just in time to see the wardrobe – and mirror – shatter into a shower of glittering dust…and disappear altogether.

The ensuing silence was somewhat…heavy.

"Ah…" Dagna broke it eventually. "In case no one has guessed by now…that was _probably _the only way back home."

-oo-


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The candle guttered; hot wax spraying across the top corner of the parchment, flickering wildly then died, plunging Diana's workspace into frosty gloom. While the flambeaux attached to the towering arches still burned high above her, without the friendly, personal light of the candle, the shadows of the temple elongated, deepened, taking on a more menacing aspect. Not that she found anything particularly creepy about this place. How could she? She could take up permanent residence in the Temple and be quite sure to make a new discovery every day. Before breakfast. It would include how much those crazy mad Cultists had removed, destroyed or altered. The villagers of Haven had had generations to do what they wanted with the Temple, or so Brother Genitivi would tearfully remind her every time they found a vacated alcove or an emptied room.

Yup. Too busy being fascinated to be anywhere near frightened. Being frightened was for sissies and Templars.

Speaking of…Hadn't there been a Knight Commander-shaped statue somewhere about? Right there. By the ancient bronze amphora she'd been using to store some of her longer scrolls. Genitivi had let her abuse the ancient relic because apart from there being dozens of the things in the temple, its design was bafflingly cartoonish. No other _serious _artifacts depicted winged, demonic toads as their decoration, leading the Chantry scholar to surmise it had been the ancient equivalent of a joke gift from one guardian to another.

Personally Diana was sceptical. Guardians had no detectable sense of humour. Clearly, an immortal life with no retirement plan or regular entertainment did that to a person.

Hunting around her storage box turned up no replacement candles. And the ache in her lower back indicated more hours than she'd realised had passed. Knitting her fingers together she stretched her arms, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension of being cooped up in a writing position for so long.

Now that she was up and about, she might as well go looking for the old ball and chain. He'd sounded sulky last time he was here. And bored. Not enough apostates to harass up in the Frostbacks, she supposed…

As she stretched, her stomach grumbled and then she spotted them; large footprints leading away from her work station towards the main staircase. She slapped her forehead. Maker, she hoped he wasn't off somewhere breaking rare and irreplaceable ancient relics. If whatever the cultists had removed had Genitivi openly weeping, Cullen _breaking _things was going to have her banned from working here. For several lifetimes.

Strange though…While the footprints led up to the staircase, there did not appear to be any leading _back. _

Her curiosity piqued. If he'd stumbled into a new treasure trove, Diana would have surely picked up the sound of history being obliterated, the Knight Commander being a tad…disapproving of the way those cultists had been 'worshipping' Andraste. Plus if he had indeed found something she might be interested in, he'd bring it back like a good little Retriever. Unless it had eaten him.

Or turned him into something unnatural.

But that would be just silly.

Throwing her cloak around her shoulders, Diana retrieved her staff before setting off following the footprints. They were not deep, suggesting whatever the Knight Commander had been investigating had not been particularly urgent…except at the top of the stairs where it looked like he'd increased his pace…_and after this, I can legitimately charge people to find their lost pets._

The footsteps were deeper here, wider. Had he been running? Not quite. Just a leisurely jog. Maybe he was cold and needed to warm up. Cullen had also taken a side-tunnel here; one of the many she'd been down before but had discounted as a dead end. The broken bookshelf was still present, but moved aside, revealing an opening that was more a break in the wall than an actual doorway. Her eyebrows drew downwards. Cullen knew better than to investigate a new area without telling her first. Especially an area that had been so carefully mapped previously.

So what was so interesting that he had to go on his own? And how had both herself and Genitivi missed this?

Diana bent down, peering into the darkness, eyes narrowed. There was light at the end of the tunnel; just a pinprick of green.

_Green light? _

Something arcane, she'd bet and something she'd have to save her spouse from no doubt. The man courted danger like a soldier in a whorehouse on furlough.

Brushing the edges of her cloak aside, she gripped her staff more firmly and stepped inside, the top of her head brushing the stone. Loose grit showered her shoulders and she shook her head. The ground sloped down somewhat to…steps was it? How intriguing. Not many. Just enough to put a bit of head room between herself and a bout of stone-induced concussion.

A bit of flame on the end of her staff lit the passage way. There were drawings here, on the wall. On closer inspection they were found to be more of those winged caricatures, so clearly whoever had decorated those amphorae had taken his comedy underground. Or that was what she told herself.

The alternative explanation made her head hurt too much.

Her boots echoing along the stone, it was a minute or two before she realised the sound was not from her boots but from something else. Up ahead.

Snuffing the flame, Diana paused, listening in the darkness. Voices.

Voices?

Some of that sounded like croaking.

No, that can't be right.

Had she hit her head without noticing?

No, that couldn't be right either.

The words of a fireball rising to her lips, Diana shuffled silently forward, the circle of green expanding, closing in, turning into…

"Look, I'm sorry, but I can turn them _into_ frogs, but I've never actually turned any froggage _back._"

"I thought all you mages had some kind of undo spell?"

"Well, that would be silly wouldn't it? Why would any mage want to 'undo' a spell? If I'm going to chuck a fireball at someone, I'm going to mean it, aren't I? I'm not going to go afterwards 'oh shouldn't have done that, can I take it back?' No can do."

"I agree. Besides," the first voice said. "The Warden Commander's a lot more manageable this way. I just have to keep him away from the laddie. He dissects these things."

"The laddie?" the third voice asked conversationally.

"My son," the first voice chirped. "Brogan. Eight, going on eighty. Though we think it might be a dwarven thing."

"Your husband is a dwarf?" the second voice asked.

"Well no. He's a frog," the first voice corrected. "At present. No, Brogan sort of adopted me. Like an unexpected boil."

"They're so cute when they do that."

What followed was argumentative croaking. Diana's frown deepened. Whoever was up ahead was either not human or had a very bad throat infection.

"Well, it's not my fault," the first voice stated. "You and Brogers have to sit down and work this out, father to son."

_Crrrk crk rrrrgdit grrrddddddrr!_

"At the risk of interrupting this touching marital conjugation," the third voice said, sounding amused, which meant, Diana thought, that either these were the same people with the terrible sense of humour and even worse artistic talent who made the ancient vases, or were incredibly bored demons, "I think there is someone outside. Listening."

"Oh! Let's invite them in! The more the merrier!"

"Or we could kill them."

"Without introducing ourselves first? I'm very, very sorry, but you're just not very well brought up are you?"

There was a sigh. And footsteps. And then a large figure suddenly looming in Diana's personal space and…_fshtzzzzz! _Magical blue flame illuminated a slender pale figure in the familiar garb of a Senior Enchanter. Sharp eyes bored into hers from quite a distance above Diana's own line of sight.

"Hah!" the mystery mage said. "It's another mage! Dagna, I think you might get your full set after all!" Turning back, the tall woman half-smiled. "Just as well you're here, really," she said. "Know any good 'unspells'?"

-oo-

_Not the most auspicious or memorable meeting was it?_

_Complaints, already? Be thankful they're in the same place, let alone anything else._

'_Anything else'? Is there an 'anything else'?_

_No. It just sounded interesting to say._

_And did you have to bring the two Templars along?_

_What? Mages aren't allowed to have hobbies? Spellwork can be rather dreary at times, you know._

_Why these three? Why not three other mages? There's the First, for example. The Archmage…and that very nice Tevinter chappie having a bit of a sabbatical in Cumberland._

_Hah! Why, you ask? If you must know: too distrustful, too whiny and too clever by half. _

_So what you're saying is you needed someone stupid, someone trusting and someone…cheerful? Hardly the stuff of legends._

_I didn't say it had to be easy._

_I did. Might save us a bit of leg work later._

_See, this is why I don't work with amateurs._

_Ooh, hark at you. All 'I know better because I'm an immortal higher being, blah, blah, blah' ooh er, I'm so impressed. Not._

_You'll see._

_Will I?_

_Oh yes. You'll see, and then _we'll _see who laughs last._

_Huh. As long as it's not out of our arses, I'll be happy._

_I wasn't aware you had one of those, but I suppose for this particular exercise, I give you permission to run with that._

-oo-

Owain did not like The Outside. Inside was warm and quiet. Inside held his personal space, order. Outside was cold and wet and windy and had People besides; people who talked too loud or in pretend whispers about the vague man in unmarked mage robes who spoke in emotionless monotone. People who could not accept nor wished ever to accept that he had voluntarily chosen to have his connection to the Fade severed so that his mind would no longer be jumbled and vague. Without the burden of emotion, Owain felt free; unencumbered by anger, fear and resentment. There wasn't so much clarity of thought.

This was clarity of life.

For instance, take that thing in the sky. Had any other mage still attached to their magic been viewing what he was currently viewing, there would be screaming and panic and running for their emotion-filled lives. In place of abject terror was academic interest. Analysis. A serene mental construction of appropriate words to convey to the First Enchanter that the object in the sky was most probably a grim portent of the End Of The World As Everyone Knew It.

_Interesting…_Owain thought. _Now there's a demon one doesn't see every day…_Not that he considered himself any kind of expert in demonology or otherwise. Getting up close and far too personal with the beasties unleashed by Uldred's ripping of the Fade right open and lining the Tower of Magi's corridors with welcome banners for the denizens of the Otherworld did not make him an expert by any means.

He simply knew how to identify them is all. Few creatures of the mortal world had that many arms for instance. Twelve at last count. Or teeth that size, or swooped down on an entire inn full of panicked, screaming, pants-wetting people and ate it whole. Then spat out the indigestible bits through what appeared to be some kind of fascinating blow hole in its…back? Though Owain did wonder, fleetingly, what a demon's digestive system would actually be like if it didn't get enough roughage.

Regularity was important to a healthy lifestyle after all.

What would the Senior Enchanter call it? This was no simple sundering of the Veil. Nor was it mere 'slicing to pieces'. Certainly not accurate enough for the present scope of damage or carnage. 'Let's open the gate to hell lads because the demons need to go shopping for human souls'? 'A gaping, bottomless, cataclysmic chasm into certain Death'? Now he was getting somewhere. Though perhaps he should tone down the flowery descriptive for something a little bit more practical?

_Dear First Enchanter. We are all going to die. Horribly. Quite possibly ripped from limb to limb because demons are rather like that as you in your extensive expertise have probably surmised by now. No manners as one would expect from such creatures. One moment 'Pop!' The next, blood everywhere and intestines are being used to tie little parcels of demon dinners, got to give those monsters credit for creativity, eh?_

There were times like these that he wished he was back in his storeroom. No doubt the First Enchanter – being a somewhat practical man himself – would have looked out of the window and drawn his own, more experienced conclusions. Word would have spread. And _word _spreading throughout the Tower, as Owain found previously, meant an assault on his well-organised store of magical items for whatever mages felt would protect them from agonising death, demonic possession and/or abominahood.

Take the _Litany of Adralla_ for instance. Anyone with a bit of _nous _and knowledge of the history of the famous Bard would have picked up a bottle of pickled scorpion bile along with the scroll. Not because it held any particular magical quality, but because even demons had standards and hated the stuff with a passion.

With a sigh, Owain ducked the flying beastie and began his way back to Kester's boat ramp.

"Maker's breath, Ser!" Kester was to be found cowering under an upturned barrel in his own boat _Lissie. _"What's to become of all of us?"

"Death, most probably," Owain responded.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Kester whimpered.

Owain pondered the green haze and blackened horizon one thoughtful moment. "Yes, most certainly," he replied.

"What is it,Ser? What can we-"

"Hope for a quick and painless death," Owain advised, settling himself on the bench. One would have thought it _obvious_, really_. _But then, he reminded himself, not all were as lucky as he.

-oo-


End file.
